I hear what’s happening
It's whispers
Like memories that ghosts have
Inky across night's floor
Looking back, they cry
I hear them now
I see our death
My spirit leaving
Our entangled bodies
I can already see
A wispy memory
Of us in the trees
Obscured by the sun
The mist will cover it
And I will glide along
On wind
Windswept
Like the way dry sand
Flies along the face
Of the wet sand that stays
Safely in place
I will glide over it
And I will see the memories of you
Grains of sand
Rushing by
But I won’t be able to stay
Because I can’t stay now
I never learned how to stay
You, the sand that remains
Will never see me fly by
Ghosts are never really seen.
--Eric Marley
March 2013
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